Geese at a four-way stop

I grew up hearing the phrase:
“As silly as a goose, goosey Lucy.”
I learned a lesson yesterday
at a Louisville four-way
stop, the last before my right turn
onto Outer Loop.

A matriarch gander, wings in a droop,
head moving up and down, making a turn
left to right, neck, extending to view what lay
ahead, waiting for the light to turn yellow, then away
she goes, the red light trapping me
in the middle of the intersection, forming a maze

she had learned to create.
Goose-stepping like North Korean soldiers
on parade, she leads her brood of five
golden, downy goslings, plus mother
goose and four smaller goslings, and
another mother of three

very, very small goslings, with me
stalling traffic in all directions, and
finally a mother with two hatchlings and another
two males at the rear, reminding me of the St. Ives
riddle, except all are going across much bolder
than their high-flying ancestry mates.

Meanwhile, my car is the keystone,
holding all her construction in place.